In the End

Not strictly poetry, but this very short story caught my attention.

In the End
Neil Gaiman

In the end, the Lord gave Mankind the world. All the world was Man's, save for one garden. This is my garden, said the Lord, and here you shall not enter.

There was a man and a woman who came to the garden, and their names were Earth and Breath.

They had with them a small fruit which the Man carried, and when they arrived at the gate to the garden, the Man gave the fruit to the Woman, and the Woman gave the fruit to the Serpent with the flaming sword who guarded the Eastern Gate.

And the serpent took the fruit and placed it upon a tree in the center of the garden.

Then Earth and Breath knew their clothedness, and removed their garments, one by one, until they were naked; and when the Lord walked through the garden he saw the man and the woman, who no longer knew good from evil, but were satisfied, and He saw it was good.

Then the Lord opened the gates and gave Mankind the garden, and the Serpent raised up, and it walked away proudly on four strong legs; and where it went none but the Lord can say.

And after that there was nothing but silence in the Garden, save for the occasional sound of the man taking away its name from another animal.

Tourdion

More poetry from music. This is the text from a 14th Century Italian madrigal, recently performed by the Kensington Consort as part of their concert "Sacred and Profane." Obviously, this was from the profane part of the program...

Tourdion
attributed to Pierre Attaignant

When I drink light red wine, friend,
Everything goes round and round
So from now on I'll drink Anou or Arbois
Let's sing and drink and wage war on this bottle
Let's sing and drink, my friends, let's drink!

Good wine renders us merry, let's sing,
Forget our sorrows, let's sing!
While eating of a fat ham, on this bottle let us wage war!

Let us drink well, drink my friends, clink glasses,
Drink, merrily sing!
While eating of a fat ham, on this bottle let us wage war!

Verklärte Nacht

Richard Dehmel
translation by Stanley Apppelbaum
set to music by Arnold Schoenberg

Two people walk through a bare, cold grove;
The moon races along with them, they look into it.
The moon races over tall oaks,
No cloud obscures the light from the sky,
Into which the black points of the boughs reach.
A woman's voice speaks:

I'm carrying a child, and not yours,
I walk in sin beside you.
I have committed a great offense against myself.
I no longer believed I could be happy
And yet I had strong yearning
For something to fill my life, for the joys of motherhood
And for duty; so I committed an effrontery,
So, shuddering, I allowed my sex
To be embraced by a strange man,
And, on top of that, I blessed myself for it.
Now life has taken its revenge:
Now I have met you, oh, you.

She walks with a clumsy gait,
She looks up; the moon is racing along.
Her dark gaze is drowned in light.
A man's voice speaks:

May the child you conceived
Be no burden to your soul;
Just see how brightly the universe is gleaming!
There's a glow around everything;
You are floating with me on a cold ocean,
But a special warmth flickers
From you into me, from me into you.
It will transfigure the strange man's child.
You will bear the child for me, as if it were mine;
You have brought the glow into me,
You have made me like a child myself.

He grasps her around her ample hips.
Their breath kisses in the breeze.
Two people walk through the lofty, bright night.

lyrics as poetry

I've been falling asleep at work listening to Iron & Wine and it occured to me that these lyrics are as much poetry as anything else I put up here. As such, and in celebration of my recent engagement (yay!), here is one of the most romantic songs I've heard in a while

Fever Dream
Iron & Wine

Some days her shape in the doorway
Will speak to me
A bird’s wing on the window
Sometimes I’ll hear her when she’s sleeping
Her fever dream
A language on her face

I want your flowers like babies want God’s love
Or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come

Some days, like rain on the doorstep
She’ll cover me
With grace in all she offers
Sometimes I'd like just to ask her
What honest words
She can’t afford to say, like

I want your flowers like babies want God’s love
Or maybe as sure as tomorrow will come

Bukowski

the way it is now

Charles Bukowski

I'll tell you
I've lived with some gorgeous women
and I was so bewitched by those
beautiful creatures that
my eyebrows twitched.

but I'd rather drive to New York
backwards
than to live with any of them
again.

the next classic stupidity
will be the history
of those fellows
who inherit my female
legacies.

in their case
as in mine
they will find
that madness
is caused by not
being often enough
alone.

Editor's note: I know it's a bit dark, but I just love the image of driving to New York backwards...

Mueller

Why We Tell Stories
For Linda Foster

Lisel Mueller

I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us

and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees

3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life

Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently

and none of us tells it
the same way twice

Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them

and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and

Great title...

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

Billy Collins

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.